


Only Just A Dream

by JeanKirsnickerdoodle



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, I’m sorry, M/M, Sad, Suicide, poor Jean, why did I write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 18:39:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16413728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanKirsnickerdoodle/pseuds/JeanKirsnickerdoodle
Summary: Six years later, and they’ve finally defeated all of the titans. They’re moving slowly towards spreading beyond the walls, seeing what’s truly out there. But none of them forget. No, none of them forget all that happened during those six years. Especially Jean...





	Only Just A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god, let’s see where this goes. Chapter title gotten from the song “Just a Dream” by Nelly! Listen to the Sam Tsui and Christina Grimmie cover, though. You'll thank me.

Marco laughed, twirling Jean behind the stables. It was late at night, and Marco had somehow taken the hay and the lone lantern the stables were lit by to be a romantic atmosphere, and declared to Jean he was going to take him on a proper date. Apparently Marco’s idea of this was dancing in the dead of night, getting eaten alive by mosquitos and risking getting caught. Jean could care less, though. He was with Marco. That’s what mattered.

Marco twirled Jean again, and Jean fought a smile off his face, complaining, “Marco, I don’t dance. Never. Not at all.” Marco spun Jean around to face him and giggled, “But you’re trying not to smile right now.” Jean hated that he was right, he really did. He gave up and let a small grin grace his face, and was rewarded with a small gasp and a clap from Marco. “I knew it! You like to dance with me!” He accused, pointing a finger at Jean and biting his lip to keep from smiling. Jean sighed in resignation and said, “Fine, fine, I enjoy dancing with you. Happy now?” Marco softened and pulled Jean in by his waist till they were mere inches apart. “Ecstatic,” He whispered softly, pulling Jean in.

Jean closed his eyes and leaned in, preparing for the soft touch of Marco’s lips against his. Instead, Jean was met with a warm, sticky substance that clung to his lips. “Marco?” Jean pulled away and opened his eyes in confusion before taking a step back, horrified. Gone was his Marco, his beautiful, stubborn, happy boyfriend. Standing before him was some monster, a creation with only half of Marco’s face and body.

“What’s wrong, Jean?” The thing rasped, staggering towards Jean. Jean found his voice and started screaming. It took no notice, continuing to come at Jean with it’s left arm outstretched, the right stump trailing blood and tissue, saying, “Don’t you want to kiss me?” A dull roar filled Jean’s ears, but in the background he could still hear himself begging, sobbing, pleading. At first the words were unintelligible, but before long Jean dimly realized he was screaming, “MARCO!” repeatedly.

“You said you would never leave me, Jean...” the thing wailed, tears streaming down the human side of his face. “I didn’t leave you!” Jean shouted, tears running down his face. “I WOULDN’T!” He screamed louder, covering his ears. “Why did you leave me?” The thing cried, reaching towards Jean. He recoiled and tried to back away, only to find out he had been pinned against something warm. He looked behind him in horror at a mound of pink flesh. Slowly turning his gaze upwards, he looked towards the sky, straight into the eyes of a Titan. No, not _a_ Titan, _the_ Titan. The one Jean knew did this to Marco.

Jean froze, every instinct in his body screaming at his to run. The Titan bent down slowly, it’s face growing ever larger and closer to Jean’s. A sinister grin spread across it’s face as its arm swooped down for them... to get them... 

Jean turned wildly back to Half- Marco, only to find he was not there. All that was left was a pile of bones and ashes, with Marco’s 3DMG gear lying on top of it, along with a note spelling out, “Its your fault...”

———

Jean awoke with a scream, a hand covering half of his face. He looked around frantically, certain he would see the bones or the Titan or Marco’s face, oh, god, Marco’s face...

Gradually his breathing calmed and the tears slowed to a trickle as he realized it was just a Dream. . He wiped his eyes and stared at the ceiling, taking in deep breaths. _It’s_ _been_ _six_ _years_ , _Marco_... he thought numbly. _Six years since you died._

He still remembered it. How could he not? It was all Jean’s fault, after all. If he had just gone after Marco... if he had just payed a little bit more attention... Marco would still be there. He would still be here to press a small kiss to Jean’s forehead and whisper that everything would be alright, somehow. Because with Marco, everything was alright. Somehow, he made it okay. But Marco’s gone. And it’s all Jean’s fault.

Jean buried his face in his hands, the tears returning. Sobs wracked his body as he rocked in the bed, trying to regain some control over his life. His thoughts. But he couldn’t, not since Marco died. Not since his light, his life, his best friend and probably even soulmate, died. Because of him.

_I’m so sorry, Marco... I’m so fucking sorry._

_———_

Jean spent a sleepless night getting all of his feelings out via crying and punching his pillow, and finally gave up on ever trying to get back to sleep at around six in the morning. Instead, he stared at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts. “Marco WOULD still be here, wouldn’t he?” He whispered out loud. “If I had stayed with him, he would.” Jean felt tears sting at the corners of his eyes, but didn’t bother wiping them away.

Suddenly, without really even thinking about it, Jean swung out of bed and padded over to his writing desk. Switching the lamp on, he began drafting the letters. Armin. Mikasa. Levi. Sasha. Connie. Historia. Even Eren, the dumb asshole that he was. Everyone that was still alive. Everyone that knew what it was like. Everyone who woke up every night from dreams like that. 

It took Jean almost an hour to finish, but when he was done, he sat back and surveyed his work with muted pleasure. It would have to do. Jean scooped up the letters and headed for the door, passing his closet where his jackets hung. He hesitated, slowly backing up and eyeing the closet. Maybe it was about time to crack open that thing.

Jean opened the door tentatively, keeping in mind he hadn’t opened it for years. After all, materials were sparse, and the only hoodie he could afford was the one he wore year- round. No, this closet was for other jackets.

 _Those_ jackets.

Jean waved the dust away with his hands and turned on the closet light, revealing his survey jacket in all of its bloodstained glory. Looking at it, Jean almost lost it again. In those folds and creases, a story was told. A story of loss, and tragedy. Of losing friends. 

Jean shook his head, then, reaching past the jacket, grasped another.

Marco’s.

Techinally, it was illegal to have that jacket. Not your uniform, not your property, right? But Jean had. He stole it off of Marco’s body, feeling like a dishonest thief, but also knowing it’s what Marco wanted. Not everything had to go up in flames.

Pulling it off of the hanger, Jean stared at Marco’s jacket for a long minute, then put it on. It still didn’t fit - after all of these years, Marco was still bigger than him - and Jean stifled a twisted laugh. He’d like that, the pretentious bastard. Jean knew he would.

Jean stared at himself in the mirror for a long time, unable to accept the person he saw there. Who he saw there was broken. Undesirable. Empty.

Which reminded him of his plan.

Jean pulled his eyes away from the mirror, mentally saying goodbye to his image. There wasn’t anything there he would miss, but it felt proper. It felt right.

Jean grabbed the bundle of letters and his old jacket and stepped outside. Nobody was up quite yet - the sun had just begun to rise - but that was okay. Better for the situation, actually. It would avoid tears. It would avoid second guesses.

Jean couldn’t afford second guesses. Not today.

He walked around town, distributing the letters. The feat sounded more impressive than it actually was, since all the “town” really was was a few streets consisting of a few stores and his friend’s houses. They had decided on a settlement together, and for once, Jean was glad to have company. It was good to have someone who knew.

When he was done, Jean walked to the outskirts of town (i.e, Sasha and Connie’s backyard. He took a deep breath, and then, without pausing to look back, stepped out. He walked into the forest about thirty feet away from the fence line of Sasha and Connie’s, and only then stopped to glance back. The sun was starting to rise, and he could see the silhouette of someone moving in Sasha and Connie’s. Probably Sasha - she always woke up with the fucking sun, the idiot. Jean chuckled softly, and then turned around and continued walking, for good this time. He walked for about five minutes until he reached a well- worn path, and then followed it. After another few minutes of walking, he reached a clearing, riddled with flat stones. Jean leaned his head back and took a deep breath of air, sterling himself for what he was about to do. He then looked down at the stone just near his feet, and read,

_Erwin Smith._

Jean bent down and rubbed the stone for a minute before chuckling and whispering, “Tough old bastard, weren’t you, Mr. Smith? But then, you taught me everything. You taught me to survive. I wish you could have done the same. You... you of all people deserved to see the end of this.” 

Jean straightened up and stared at Erwin’s name for a moment before continuing to the next stone.

He proceeded like that, going to each stone and whispering a short message to whoever the name was. He didn’t know how many names there were, only that he recognized each one.

_Reiner Braun._

_Mina Carolina._

_Annie Leonhardt._

_Mike Zacharius._

_Bertlholdt Hoover._

_Zoë Hanji._

Tens, hundreds of names, and Jean knew every one of them. More fucked up than that, he had a message for every one of them. An apology. A thank-you. A compliment. A tribute, to all of the men and women who escaped.

Jean kept walking and whispering, continuing and praying, until at last he got to the final gravestone.

_Marco Bodt._

And underneath, in his own messy scrawl, “Died a Hero.” Jean smiled at that. It was Sasha’s idea.

Jean sat on his butt and brushed a bit of dirt off of Marco’s stone, and looked down at the jacket he still held in his arms. His old survey corps jacket. Marco’s was still hung around his shoulders.

”Look, Marco, I-“ he started, before shutting his mouth again and sighing. “I miss you. I miss you so fucking much. I come down here every day and tell you that, but hot damn, is it true. Not a day goes by that I-“ Jean gulped, feeling hot tears form in his eyes again. He swiped at them angrily, wondering how many times he was going to cry today. Jean took a deep breath to steady himself, and then continued. 

“I have dreams every night, Marc. It’s always the same. Always you. And it’s gotten fucking unbearable. I can’t go on without you, Marco. I never could. But this is it. I love you, Bodt. I still love you. God, I love you and every single one of your god... damned... freckles.” By now, Jean was sobbing, and he didn’t even care anymore. He leaned his head against the gravestone and whispered through his tears, “I just want you back, Marco...”

He stayed silent for a minute, waiting for the tears to slow. When he calmed down a bit, Jean said, “I’m coming though. I’m coming to you, love. You don’t have to wait much longer.”

With that, Jean stood up abruptly and brushed off his pants. A faint blush colored his cheeks as he looked down at his jacket again. “I’m leaving this here, Marco. Okay? Sash or Mika or Historia will find it and wash it, but they’ll bring it back out here for me. I know they will.”

Jean placed the folded jacket on Marco’s gravestone before stepping back and studying his scrawl one last time.

He wondered what they would write on his gravestone.

Jean whispered, “I love you, Marco. I’m coming,” before walking away without looking back.

At first Jean walked at a normal pace, but he slowly grew faster and faster until he was running, running as fast as he could to what he knew he would reach eventually. And he did. Jean slowed down and bent over with his hands on his knees, panting for a minute. Before long, though, he straightened back up and saw it.

The bridge.

Jean approached it with tentative steps, walking up to it slowly. He looked over the edge at the river below. Far below.

And Jean smiled.

The wind blew his hair out of his face and he turned his face towards the sky as the first ray of sunlight broke out against his face. He knew the others were awake by then. He knew they had read his letters. He knew they were already coming after him, looking to stop him.

He knew they would be too late.

Jean closed his eyes and smiled into this new day, this last day. He whispered, “I love you guys,” one last time.

And Jean jumped.

As he fell, he let a small laugh escape him. He didn’t feel regret. He didn’t feel sadness.

All he felt was relief.

 

———

On the other side, Marco smiled through his tears. And he waited for Jean to come home to him.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m s o r r y -


End file.
